The Role of Knowledge in the Caliphate System of al-Ghazālī: Is It an Element of Openness or Isolating Fundamentalism?

Abstract

Opening the debate today about the original aims of the caliphate system and the importance of the relationship between religion and politics in the Islamic tradition might look outdated or fundamentalist in a negative sense. Effectively, in today’s global imaginary, such topics are mostly related to groups like al-Qaeda and ISIS; however, the original sense of the Islamic political system has little to do with what these groups preach and do. This article aims to highlight that the real raison d’être of the relationship between religion and politics in Islam is none other than the desire and will of a believer to seek true knowledge and live according to it. This search for true knowledge where religion and politics meet is also a place where all spiritualities might find themselves together in a genuine search for the truth.

1. Part One

First, a glimpse of the biography of al-Ghazālī. Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad Ibn Muḥammad al-Ghazālī, was born in Tus in the year ~1058–1059/450 in Khorasan, near Mashhad in today’s Eastern Iran. His father died when he was still young; he then studied in Nishapur with al-Juwaynī, the Imam of the two sacred cities Mecca and Medina (Imām al-Ḥaramayn al-Sharifayn). In 1085/477, after the death of his great teacher, he went to the court of the Vizier Niẓām al-Mulk, with whom he developed a great relationship of mutual respect and admiration. Being a scholar in the court of Niẓām al-Mulk was a highly prestigious privilege, and only the most revered scholars could attend the gatherings of the Vizier. In 1091/483, Niẓām al-Mulk appointed al-Ghazālī as the chief professor of the Niẓāmiyya madrasa in Baghdad. During this period, Abū Ḥāmid became very famous and his teachings and arguments defending Islam gained appreciation from the Sunnī mainstream scholars. During this time, he wrote the following books: Al-Mustaẓhirī (also called Faḏā’iḥ al-Bāṭiniyya); The Precipitance of the Philosophers (Tahāfut al-Falāsifa); and The Just Mean in Belief (al-Iqtiṣād fī al-I‘tiqād).

In around 1096/489, Abū Ḥāmid had a spiritual existential crisis: he doubted the existence of any reality, and after a difficult struggle he was cured by a light that God cast into his heart (al-Ghazālī 1988a, p. 28). This crisis led him to leave everything and go in search for certitude (yaqīn); he spent ten years living mystically in Syria and Jerusalem, disciplining his soul. Then, after being called to the Niẓāmiyya of Nishapur by Fakhr al-Mulk, the son of Niẓām al-Mulk, he accepted but never went back to the prestigious life he used to have in the court and Niẓāmiyya of Baghdad. He spent his last years in Tus, where he died in 1111/505. During this period out of Baghdad, he wrote the following works: The Revival of the Religious Sciences (Iḥyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn); the Deliverer from Error (al-Munqiḏ min al-Ḍalāl); a Counsel for Rulers (Naṣīḥat al-Mulūk); and On Legal Theory of Muslim Jurisprudence (al-Mustaṣfā fī ‘Ilm al-’Uṣūl).

Al-Ġazālī has been considered as a proof of religion and as a renewer of the faith. He has been recognized as being from the first Islamic scholars who integrated the Ṣūfiyya into the mainstream Sunnī tradition.

It is worth noting that when Abū Ḥāmid was born, Islam as a civilization and religion was going through several challenges. On the political level, the Caliphate’s political power had become fragile in terms of government and political theory. It needed a renewed justification in light of the fact that it was fragmented into several dynasties and was no longer a united Islamic empire (Campanini 2019, p. 17). Al-Māwardī (d. 1058/450), before al-Ghazālī, had already taken up the challenge of responding to the fragmentation and power struggle issues between the Caliph and the ruling dynasties, and was the first to theorize the Caliphate comprehensively (Mitha 2001, pp. 5–6). Abū Ḥāmid was very much influenced by him in his political theory, but mostly by his personal political and spiritual experiences, as will be shown below.

The political thought of Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī is spread throughout many of his writings, most notably in Iḥyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn (al-Ghazālī 2005), Naṣīḥat al-Mulūk (al-Ghazālī 1988b), al-Iqtiṣād fī al-I‘tiqād (al-Ghazālī 2012), and al-Mustaẓhirī (al-Ghazālī 1964). This political thought has been studied abundantly by many scholars; however, in most cases, it has been tackled independently, without taking into account his holistic view of the world and the truth. This issue was very well highlighted by Yazeed Said (Said 2013), and before him by Henri Laoust (Laoust 1970), who realized that studying Abū Ḥāmid’s political thought without taking into consideration his vision of the world and the purpose of life produces a partial study that creates many misunderstandings. From here comes the importance of deepening the study of the relationship between true knowledge and political authority in the thought of Abū Ḥāmid.

This paper is divided into two parts: In the first part, I discuss what is true knowledge for Abū Ḥāmid, what are the ways to acquire it, and the challenges to learning and teaching it. In this part, I discuss that true knowledge for al-Ghazālī is called yaqīn. I show that, for him, there are two different ways to acquire knowledge: it could be acquired through the rational sciences or through the sciences of unveiling. In his view, these ways are not contradictory, but the second can lead to deeper knowledge of God and happiness. I explain that for al-Ghazālī there are different meanings of yaqīn: He says that, for some, it is certitude, like for the theorists and the philosophers, for whom intellectual certitude is enough to be considered true knowledge. For others, like the mystics and Ṣūfis, yaqīn is all about consciousness; it is knowledge that inhabits a person. It is also transformative insofar as it is reflected in deeds. Al-Ghazālī says that a person should seek yaqīn in its two meanings.

In the second part, and based on what preceded, I show how ethics are the basis of authoritativeness, since this world is an “estate” that prepares its people for the Afterlife. I show how, for Abū Ḥāmid, in this world, politics should aim to prepare the citizens/Muslims for the Afterlife. He considers that the political society should aim for this purpose and each authoritative component of society should work for this aim. Based on this, I explain how it is inconceivable for al-Ghazālī to seek a political system other than the Caliphate, where the Caliph and the scholars ensure that the political society is heading towards the right path. At the same time, I show that al-Ghazālī highlights the role of each profession in society, which makes his imagined caliphate resemble one organism where all are responsible for its functioning and well-being, and where all have the same higher purpose: building the way towards the Afterlife.

1.1. True Knowledge: The Science of the Path to the Afterlife (‘ilm al-Ākhira)

The Messenger of God said: “Nothing is more felicitous for the worship of God than religious knowledge; one person with religious knowledge is more distressing to Satan than a thousand worshippers. Each thing has its own mainstay and the mainstay of this religion is knowledge.”

(al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 13)1

In this part of the article, I show that, according to al-Ghazālī, reaching the ways of al-ḥaqq requires acquiring a certain kind of knowledge that he would call yaqīn (meaning certitude, or even consciousness, as I am going to argue here further). I will show that the knowledge system that al-Ghazālī built is the basis of the ethics that should (or would automatically as a natural consequence) be reflected in the deeds of a Muslim and in society in general. Effectively, this happens because, according to al-Ghazālī, such knowledge of yaqīn is transformative knowledge that transforms the ethics and behavior of its possessor. When knowledge does not transform ethics and behavior, it is not true knowledge.

1.2. Yaqīn as Transformative Knowledge

What is yaqīn for al-Ghazālī? In al-Munqidh min al-Ḍalāl, al-Ghazālī talks about having gone through a personal crisis that made him question his beliefs. This experience pushed him to search for yaqīn, which can be translated as certitude. However, after he overcame this crisis, he concluded that understanding yaqīn as intellectual certitude only is misleading. Effectively, the yaqīn he achieved after the light had been cast into his heart and calmed his soul is best understood as a synthesis of consciousness, faith, intellectual certitude, and proper action.

In Iḥyā’ ‘Ulūm al-Dīn, he asks “what is yaqīn?” (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 87), and he answers that it is a term used by two different groups with two different meanings.

The first meaning is the one of the theologians (al-mutakallimūn) and the discursive thinkers (al-nuẓẓār) in general. For these, yaqīn means having no doubt about a particular thing. Here we can say it is literally ‘certitude’. Abū Ḥāmid says that, according to these, believing in something could be divided into four stages (maqāmāt). The first is the one where the level of believing in something and the level of denying it are almost equal; it is the stage of doubt. The second is when a person leans towards believing one thing, although its contrary is also possible. Here, he gives the example of someone who knows that a certain man is good and pious. He says that if someone asks this person if this man is going to be punished when dead, he might be driven to respond that he will not, although he knows that he might have some hidden evil traits or have committed some unknown bad things. Although he doubts that this person has, in fact, committed a wicked act or has a hidden evil trait, this does not stop him from supposing that he will not be punished when dead. This stage is called “supposing” (ẓann). The third stage is when the soul tends to believe without any opposite idea interfering in the mind, and in cases where any contrary idea appears, the soul refutes it immediately. Here is the case of the belief of the masses, i.e., derivative belief (taqlīd), which is a belief very close to certitude (yaqīn), but which does not reach it. The fourth stage is the one of certitude, which is demonstrated with proofs and that cannot be destabilized by any other counter argument.

The second meaning of yaqīn is the one of the knowers (fuqahā’)2, the Sufis, and most of the scholars. From the examples that Abū Ḥāmid gives, I suggest that this meaning is to be understood as a synthesis of consciousness, faith, and proper actions. Effectively, Abū Ḥāmid says that it is not an equation of probability (al-tajwīz and al-tarjīḥ) and doubt (al-shakk), but it is rather about intensity and predominance over the mind. He says, for instance, people might say about a person that he has a weak yaqīn of death, although he has no doubt about its inevitable occurrence. In addition, people might say that a person has a strong yaqīn that providence will come, even though he does not receive it yet and there is no reasonable proof that he will ever receive it. In the first example, the person is certain that death will happen (certitude in the discursive sense is present), but this does not lead him to have yaqīn (as understood in the second sense) because he fails to prepare for his Afterlife. Therefore, he is not acting in accordance with his epistemic certainty of death. Here, yaqīn for Abū Ḥāmid is much more than certitude; it is to be conscious about a thing in such a way that it becomes predominant in that person’s soul, so that his actions are in conformity with the ethical implications of that knowledge.

As for the second example about providence, it is clear that in the discursive mind there is no certainty of receiving providence. The belief in providence can be classified in the third stage on the scale of belief, as we have seen before in the first meaning of yaqīn. However, the person in the example has yaqīn in his heart, which can be described as a combination of faith and consciousness reflected in his deeds that God will provide, although there is no certain, discursive proof that God actually will. Abū Ḥāmid says the following:

When the soul is inclined to believe in a thing and this belief takes over the heart until it becomes the controller and governor of the soul in permission and inhibition, this would be called consciousness [yaqīn]. There is no doubt that people agree together on the certitude of death and the elimination of doubting in it, however, there are some of them who do not look towards it and do not prepare for it as if they are not conscious [wa ka’annahu ghayr muqin bihi]. Whereas, others who have this taking over their heart in a way it overtakes all their concern to prepare for it and does not leave any space for any other concern. This is the case that would be expressed by the strength of consciousness [yaqīn].

(al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 88)

As for what al-Ghazālī thinks himself about yaqīn, he says the following:

As for us, what we intend by our saying: “that the scholars of the Afterlife should take care of reinforcing the yaqīn” we intended it in both meanings; as to cut the doubt and then focusing the yaqīn on the soul until it becomes the one that controls and governs it.

(al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 88)

For Abū Ḥāmid, yaqīn is the combination of both certitude and the predominance of the consciousness in the soul. He insists that the duty of the scholars is on both levels. The knowledge he seems to seek is not just affirmation of a truth, but the deeper penetration of that truth in the consciousness of a person that informs the person’s deeds. It is transformative knowledge; a person after acquiring it does not remain the same, his conscience and ethics are influenced and transformed by this knowledge, and consequently also his deeds. We can say that the certitude that Abū Ḥāmid considers as true knowledge goes beyond the discursive, epistemological fact and reaches the existential, ethical, and factual reality.

Another observation that al-Ghazālī makes is that yaqīn, understood as a combination of certainty and consciousness, is not usually experienced with the same intensity. When yaqīn is understood as “consciousness”, it varies in intensity depending on a person’s state of being and on the subject matter. Preparing for death, for example, is different from one person to another. Here, al-Ghazālī criticizes the discursive thinkers who, according to him, would disagree with this claim of different levels of yaqīn because they focus on what they read in books instead of focusing on the different states of being that occur to people (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 88). Effectively, when yaqīn is understood only as certitude, it would be senseless to talk about intensity because it concerns only the rational dimension of the human, but when yaqīn is understood as certitude and consciousness together, then the intensity of this yaqīn becomes an explanation of why people do not react in the same way to the same data they receive. It explains why when people receive the same information, this information does not change their consciousness and deeds in the same way. Effectively, we are not all equally prepared to be transformed by the knowledge we might receive because the human heart is usually veiled, as we are going to explain here further.

Al-Ghazālī points out that yaqīn understood this way—as certainty and consciousness together with different levels of intensity—is necessary for our understanding of all matters of the Law-Truth (sharʿ). Specifically, he mentions that yaqīn is the basis of understanding of many things, including the unicity of God (tawḥīd), the providence of God, and that God sees good and bad deeds and rewards and punishes accordingly (al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 88–98). From here, we can already understand that the knowledge required to reach yaqīn cannot simply be the one acquired by imitating tradition with derivative beliefs (taqlīd); it requires great effort (jihād) and, above all, it depends on the grace of God.

Furthermore, in the book on fraternity in the Iḥyā’ (kitāb ādāb al-ulfa wa-al-ukhuwwa wa-al-ṣuḥba wa-al-mu‘āshara), al-Ghazālī explains in a more esoteric way why true knowledge cannot but be reflected in a person’s deeds. He says that when one grasps the idea that all is one in or with God, he cannot but love everything just as he loves God. He explains that knowledge and good character, ḥusn al-akhlāq, go together, because knowledge is nothing other than knowing God, who is manifest in everything, and knowledge of God leads to greater love of Him and of all things that He created. Here again we see that for Abū Ḥāmid, knowledge is by its nature transformative, or else it is not true knowledge. For at the end, true knowledge is the knowledge of God, and it is not possible to know God and not love Him and consequently become transformed by this experience (Heck 2017, pp. 302–3; Campanini 2019, p. 4; Laoust 1970, p. 21).

1.3. Ways to Acquire True Knowledge

Knowledge according to al-Ghazālī can be acquired in two ways: The first way is through reasoning and learning (al-istidlāl wa-al-ta‘allum). He also uses the terms “consideration” (i‘tibār) and “reflection” (istibṣār) to describe this process. This is the way of scholars. The second way is the one of “inspiration” (ilhām), which happens to the saints and the pure ones, and is called “revelation” (waḥy) when it happens to the prophets (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 894). However, al-Ghazālī talks about the “Science of the Path to the Afterlife” as the way to yaqīn. This science includes both reflection and inspiration. This science is divided into the science of practice (‘ilm al-mu‘āmala) and the science of unveiling (‘ilm al-mukāshafa). The first is the precursor to the second. Abū Ḥāmid says the following:

[…] the science that is oriented to the Afterlife is divided into the science of practice and the science of the unveiling. What I mean with the science of practice is the science that should be put in practice when unveiled. What I intend in this book is the science of the practice only excluding the science of the unveiling that no one is entitled to put it in books despite that it is the aim destination of the seekers and the saints. The science of the practice is a way towards it [the science of the unveiling] but the Prophets talked with the people exclusively about the science of the path and guidance towards it; they did not talk about the science of the unveiling except in symbols and signs and in parables and generalities because they knew the shortness of the people’s understanding. The scholars are the heirs of the Prophets and they should follow this same approach […].

(al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 10)

So, for Abū Ḥāmid, it is only possible to explain one part of the Science of the Path to the Afterlife that leads eventually to yaqīn: the part of the science of practice. However, when this science is put into practice, it will lead to the science of unveiling. Effectively, the latter can be understood only when experienced, and it is not to be considered an individual obligation, a farḍ ‘ayn, but only as an obligation of the entire Muslim community, a farḍ kifāyā.

Since teaching unveiling sciences (mukāshafa) is not possible with exact words, Abū Ḥāmid uses two metaphors to express how learning happens in the heart. These are the image of the mirror and the image of the pond, which I will briefly expand on here below.

In the apprehension of the “Preserved Tablet” (al-lawḥ al-maḥfūẓ) where all heavenly knowledge is recorded, al-Ghazālī puts forward the idea that the heart acts as a mirror. A mirror might not reflect an object if its surface is soiled, if it is not turned in the right direction, if a veil sits between the mirror and the object, etc. The same could be said about the heart with respect to its capacity to grasp the apprehension of intelligible forms. There are five defects of the heart that would impede it from reflecting the truth: (i) when it is immature, like the heart of a child; (ii) when it is polluted with disobedience to God; (iii) when it is distracted with other concerns; (iv) when an opinion is accepted as truth on the authority of taqlīd; and(v) when one does not know what ways or sciences can help in his search or when one does not know how to order the sciences to answer one’s search. Only when the heart is cleansed and the veil removed can the heart reflect part of the Preserved Tablet. This can occur either by the winds of divine grace or by rational acquisition (al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 888–90, 894–95). For al-Ghazālī, there is no difference between the knowledge received through inspiration or the one received by rational acquisition, neither regarding its content nor in its locus. The only difference is the manner in which the veil is removed. The first happens with the grace of God, the second by man’s hands (Treiger 2012, pp. 68–70).

However, it is important to note that, for Abū Ḥāmid, true knowledge is the reflection of intelligible forms in the mirror of the heart, and it is not in any way the objects of knowledge themselves that enter the heart. Just as a mirror reflects the visible form of an object and not its taste or sound, the mirror of the heart similarly reflects the intelligible forms (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 888).

This point is very important for al-Ghazālī insofar as he criticized what he calls the error of union (ittiḥād) and indwelling (ḥulūl), and believed that some Sufis had misinterpreted their mystical states (aḥwāl). Using the analogy of the mirror, just as the forms that are reflected in the mirror are not comprehended or united with it, and just as the taste and smell of the forms are not reflected in the mirror, the same happens in the heart. The latter obtains hints of God but cannot comprehend God Himself through union (ittiḥād) and indwelling (ḥulūl), nor can he comprehend all of God’s “aspects”. He accused, for example, al-Ḥallāj and al-Bisṭāmī of ecstatic pronouncements (shaṭaḥāt) because they thought that God was united with them or indwelt in them while He was revealed and reflected in their hearts (al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 46–47). This position of al-Ghazālī with regard to al-Ḥallāj and al-Bisṭāmī is characteristic of the Sufis in Khurāsān (Treiger 2012, pp. 31–33). However, although al-Ghazālī makes sure not to fall into the trap of confusing God and His creation, which would be considered a blasphemy, he does not hesitate to talk explicitly about “annihilation in the unicity of God” (al-fanā’ fī al-tawḥīd). For him, the highest state of belief in the unicity of God (al-tawḥīd) is when “the person does not see in existence other than One” (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 1604). This state can be experienced by the saints through contemplation; however, these visions and knowledge should not be set out in books. Abū Ḥāmid even believes that it would be an act of unbelief to do so (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 1605), for such states and visions cannot be understood unless experienced, and disclosing them to the public might mislead them. There is another state just before this one, where a person sees many things but sees them all coming from the One. This state is possible to be achieved by the “privileged” (al-muqarrabūn) with contemplation through the light of God, the Real-Truth (al-ḥaqq) (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 1604).

Al-Ghazālī draws another image to explain the two ways through which knowledge can be reached. He draws the image of the pond that can be filled with water from the inside or from the outside: The image of the pond filled from the inside is used to explain how knowledge can be reached by illumination in the heart. As for the pond filled from the outside, it is used as an image to explain knowledge by acquisition or philosophical knowledge through the senses (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 896).

On the other hand, it is important to note that, for al-Ghazālī, the knowledge one acquires through experience (dhawq) is not in contradiction with what one learns through knowledge (‘ilm) and belief (īmān). For al-Ghazālī, it is similar to when one sees an image in darkness or from a distance: when darkness fades or when the distance is closer, one sees differences between the two images, but the second image is not the opposite of the first, it is rather its perfection (istikmāl lahu). Al-Ghazālī adds that one may accept on faith the existence of love, disease, and death before one experiences them personally. However, when they occur, one’s realization of them is more perfect. The same can be said about some religious knowledge: after “tasting” it, it is perfected in one’s heart. It is like the difference between a sick person’s knowledge of health and the knowledge a healthy person has of health by virtue of experiencing it (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 121).

Al-Ghazālī, nonetheless, recommends the acquisition of a theoretical education before a Sufi one. This is because, in the Sufi way, one may fall into many traps without knowing that he is astray until a long time elapses. However, if he had previously acquired a theoretical education, he would not be as susceptible to error. Sufi education after theoretical education, therefore, is much more fruitful (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 896).

Al-Junayd […] said: My Sheikh al-Sirrī told me once […]: May God make you knowledgeable in Sufi tradition and not a Sufi knowledgeable in tradition. What he intended was that the one who learns tradition and science and then becomes Sufi succeeds (or is saved), and the one who becomes Sufi before learning science risks his self.

(al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 30)

In brief, it seems that al-Ghazālī launched a call for the scholars of his time to renew their own way of acquiring knowledge through a mix of theoretical knowledge and mysticism, but it seems also that he invited them to renew their pedagogical approach in spreading knowledge and to prepare the students who might be ready to enter the roads of unveiling sciences. We will see in the second part that al-Ghazālī was harsh in criticizing the scholars who sought knowledge for prestige and power and invited them to redirect their search of knowledge towards the truth and yaqīn.

2. Part Two

2.1. This World Is the Estate of the Afterlife

The most glorious and highest-ranking thing for humans is eternal life and the best things [they could do] is what is a way to it; and there is no way to it other than knowledge and rightful action. There is no way to act rightfully unless one has knowledge of how to act rightfully; therefore, the origin of happiness in the world and the Afterlife is knowledge. Therefore, it is the best kind of action. […] The actions of people are either directed toward religion or the profane world but there can be no good order in religion unless the profane world is well-ordered. The profane world is but an Estate for the Afterlife. Whoever takes it only as a tool finds that it leads to God for whoever understands it in this manner, but for whoever takes it as a residence and homeland, finds that it becomes that person’s home. The profane world, however, cannot be well-ordered in the absence of the actions of human beings. […]

(al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 20–21)

It is clear from the Iḥyā’ that al-Ghazālī sees an intrinsic relationship between politics, authority, and knowledge based on the fact that life in this profane world is nothing more than preparation or an “estate” for the Afterlife. Consequently, it should be lived and governed according to the Law that helps people attain happiness in the Afterlife.

On this, Henri Laoust is convinced that the politics of al-Ghazālī are an integral part of his doctrine and that it is impossible to understand it without understanding his theological, ethical, and juridical premises. These background sciences prepare and condition his politics. In addition, his politics are not a simple ideology that superimposes itself on a certain reality but are a moral and intellectual analysis of the situation and an instrument of action to modify the situation, perfect it, or justify it (Laoust 1970, p. 21).

As for how Abū Ḥāmid understands the profane world (al-dunyā), we note that although he is aware of other understandings, he explains it as follows:

If it is said “Why did you say that the good order of religion does not happen without the good order of the world, [while in reality] it requires the ruin of the profane world. [Effectively,] the good order of religion and the good order of the world are opposed and working toward the flourishing of one of them ruins the other”, we would say: “This is the position of someone who does not understand what we intend when we say ‘the good order of the profane world’, because in common parlance it is used to call for enjoyment, gratification and excess consumption beyond what is needed and necessary, while we intend another sense of the word, and that might be called all that is needed before death. The first sense of the term is contrary to religion but the second is its condition.” This is why the one who does not differentiate between the senses of the common terms falls into error. We say: The good order of religion lies in knowledge and worship, which could not be reached without preserving the body’s sanctity, preserving life and fulfilling the needs of clothing, housing and sustenance, and lastly comes the scourge of the security. […]

(al-Ghazālī 2012, p. 72)

Regarding the roles of authorities in this world or “the estate”, al-Ghazālī first differentiates the roles of the prophets and rulers. He states that the prophets are concerned with both the ẓāhir (external) and the bāṭin (internal) affairs of those working the estate, while the rulers are concerned only with their ẓāhir (external) affairs. For Abū Ḥāmid, the prophets preach true knowledge, they can discern right from wrong, and can guide humanity to the road of truth, of God. In this function, the ‘ulamā’ (scholars) and the wuʿʿāẓ (preachers) are their heirs, and they can guide the people toward excellence in their character (irshāduhum ilā al-akhlāq al-maḥmūda). As for rulers, their political role is limited exclusively to the external affairs of the profane world, insofar as they are its guards. Religion, however, is the foundation (al-aṣl), and, consequently, rulers are subject to the Law and cannot place themselves above It. What matters most in society is seeking God’s favor, and for that reason the prophets and the scholars who are their heirs enjoy greater authority than secular rulers. Effectively, what distinguishes the authority of the early Caliphs (al-khulafāʾ al-rāshidūn) according to al-Ghazālī is not only that they were both political leaders and scholars (‘ulamā’), but that what they really sought in their lives was the favor of God and nothing other than Him (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 32). The same was true for the Predecessor Jurists who sought knowledge for God’s pleasure and not for merely advancing the science of jurisprudence (fiqh).

What we will transmit from the biography of the Predecessor Jurists is what will enable you to know that the ones who claimed to follow their schools have wronged them, and they will be their greatest adversaries on the Resurrection Day. They (the predecessors) did not mean other than knowledge for the sake of God’s favor. They are known to have been scholars of the Afterlife based on what was witnessed directly of their affairs. […] effectively they were not working exclusively for the science of jurisprudence but they were busy in the science of the heart […]

(al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 33)

Furthermore, Abū Ḥāmid expresses in the Iqtiṣād that the early Caliphs, despite all the problems that accompanied their rule, were much better than the rulers of his contemporary period. He complains that, in his day, wealth and prestige (al-māl wa-al-jāh) had taken the place of disciplining the soul and leaning towards God (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 52). In the opening pages of the Iḥyā’, he also accuses the religious scholars of his day of being self-regarding imitators primarily interested in worldly profit rather than spiritual growth and assisting people to traverse the difficult road towards the Afterlife. Therefore, right became wrong and wrong became right. The effective cause of corruption (nuṣrat al-bātil), according to Abū Ḥāmid, was a false understanding of knowledge. Confusing true knowledge with authoritative rule (fatwā), religious scholars engaged in debates in which their aim was to defeat their opponents, not to discover truth. Knowledge is reduced to embellished rhymed prose (saja‘) used to impress people. Al-Ghazālī laments the effects that the corruption of jurisprudence (fiqh), theology (kalām), and preaching (al-wa‘ẓ) has had on the search for true knowledge among people. As a result, the science of the Path to the Afterlife has vanished from among people. This science that God in His Book called understanding (fiqh), wisdom, knowledge, radiance, light, guidance, and direction, and which the righteous forebears (al-salaf al-ṣāliḥ) had pursued, was forgotten. In fact, the corruption of knowledge, he claims, is what led him to write the Iḥyā’ (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 8). Alexander Treiger comments on this by saying that the whole purpose of the Iḥyā’ is ‘to “resuscitate” Islam on the basis of the science of the Path to the Afterlife and to demote the “worldly” sciences, in particular fiqh and kalām, which in al-Ghazālī’s view usurped the rightful place of the science of the Path to the Afterlife (Treiger 2012, p. 36).

From here we can understand that what Abū Ḥāmid is inviting the religious and the political rulers to do is to go through a deep transformation in what they consider knowledge, how they pursue it, how they live their lives, and consequently how they preach knowledge as well as exercise their power. His praise for the predecessors and his taking them as an example is not at all a fundamentalist invitation to imitate their acts and words, as is often understood by fundamentalists, but is an invitation to imitate their spirituality and ethics. It is an invitation to imitate them in liberating themselves from everything other than God and in seeking knowledge and acting according to it for the pleasure of seeking God and nothing other than Him.

2.2. Abū Ḥāmid’s Counsel for Rulers

Abū Ḥāmid’s Naṣīḥat al-mulūk, written in the genre of a mirror for princes, provides advice for rulers that is very much in line with what we have seen regarding the necessity of aligning knowledge, ethics, deeds, and the rule of Law coherently in society. I will focus here on the first part of the Naṣīḥat, given that it is uncontroversially attributable to al-Ghazali.3

Know, Sultan, that you are a creature and you have a Creator and He is the Creator of the world and all what there is in the world. He is one and has no associate, unique with no similitude. He has been in perpetuity and His being has no demise. He will stay in eternity and His existence has no extinction. His being in eternity and perpetuity is necessary and the destruction has no means to Him. He exists by Himself; everyone needs Him and He has no need of anyone; His existence is in Himself and the existence of everything is in Him.

(al-Ghazālī 1988b, p. 9)

Abū Ḥāmid starts his Naṣīḥat by reminding the ruler that he is a creature that has a Creator. This is just the opening of a series of reminders for the ruler that he will be judged just as everybody else is, if not more severely. On the other hand, he says that authority (wilāya) is a grace from God, and those who discharge their responsibility faithfully will be rewarded with eternal happiness, beyond which there is no greater happiness. But it can also be a disgrace for the ruler who fails to abide by the responsibilities of his office: he will suffer like no other except for the blasphemers (al-Ghazālī 1988b, p. 14).

To illustrate the vigilance of an ideal ruler, he tells a story about ‘Umar b. al-Khattāb, according to which he would walk with the guardians of the city during the night to make sure that there is not even a goat left back next to the stream. He then says the following to the ruler:

Look, Sultan, to ‘Umar, although his prudence and justice [were unsurpassed] and although no one reached his piety and prayer, he thinks of and fears the terror of the Resurrection Day. As for you, you have been sitting distracted from the state of your people, and are negligent of the people under your authority.

(al-Ghazālī 1988b, p. 17)

He warns the ruler that his responsibility and justice depend on making sure that his friends, deputies, and the people who work with him are also just with the people. He should not turn a blind eye to any injustice in his court. He warns that justice is never a matter of appearance only; a just ruler does not let himself be controlled by his anger and lust, but he keeps these under the control of his reason and religion. Reason and religion make the ruler understand the real meaning of things and prevent him from being deluded with the appearance of the richness of the world, of prestige, of vengeance, and of being served by others. These might appear tempting outwardly, but in their core, they have limited value, the reality of which only reason and religion reveal (al-Ghazālī 1988b, pp. 22–23). Being just with his people and responding to their needs should be the ruler’s priority, even more than worship (al-Ghazālī 1988b, p. 27).

Abū Ḥāmid tells an interesting story to express how a just ruler will be loved and protected by his people. He tells the story of a messenger from the Byzantine king who was sent to see ‘Umar b. al-Khattāb. When the messenger arrived at his place and asked about him, he understood that his people respected him sincerely. Then, when he found him, ‘Umar was sleeping relaxed on the sand under the sun. The messenger was so touched to see him relaxed like that, while the Byzantine king was always afraid of being killed. He understood that ‘Umar was so just with his people that he could trust them to the point he could sleep without an armed guard. The Byzantine messenger decided to become Muslim after this encounter after he returned home and fulfilled his diplomatic mission (al-Ghazālī 1988b, p. 18).

Finally, al-Ghazālī advises the ruler to stay close to the good scholars and stay away from the scholars that only seek their own interests. He also warns the scholars that they would share the same bad fate of the ruler if they suppress the word of truth (al-Ghazālī 1988b, pp. 18–21). The ruler should impose on his people only what he would impose on himself (al-Ghazālī 1988b, p. 26 and following). He says that the ruler should know that although the pleasures of life are very seducing, life is short and the last breath is near (al-Ghazālī 1988b, pp. 30–42).

2.3. The Caliphate System

It is clear from what preceded that Abū Ḥāmid has a spiritual and esoteric inclination in approaching politics and authority in general; however, this did not impede him from being very practical and pragmatic. I note that although al-Iqtiṣād was written before his Sufi-inspired writings, like the Iḥyā’ and al-Munqidh, he mentions al-Iqtiṣād approvingly in them, which shows his continuous belief in the validity of what he wrote in it.

In his al-Iqtiṣād, it seems that al-Ghazālī arrived at the following conclusion: the leader and specifically the imam, i.e., the Caliph, is a necessity, and it is necessary for him to be someone who is obeyed (al-Ghazālī 2012, p. 291). A caliph whose authority is not recognized and not obeyed would not be able to order secular affairs. In addition, al-Ghazālī believed that the caliph should be distinguished by some qualities, such as being from the Quraysh tribe of Mecca and being endowed with knowledge, administrative abilities, and piety. Nevertheless, although many men might be distinguished by these qualities, only the one who can have the authority conferred to him (tafwīḍ) can be the Caliph (al-Ghazālī 2012, p. 294). He believed that appointment could theoretically be made in one of three ways. The first is by designation (naṣṣ) from the Prophet Muḥammad, but according to al-Ghazālī, the Prophet never designated anyone to serve as Caliph. The second way is to be designated by the reigning Caliph as a successor (walī al-‘ahd), but this was only possible when the Caliphs had real power, something that was no longer the case in al-Ghazālī’s time. The third is through the appointment of those possessing decisive military force (shawka), which was the possibility that had the most relevance in al-Ghazālī’s context.

Moreover, we can see clearly from al-Iqtiṣād that the source of all authority (including political authority) is the Shari‘a, which represents the absolute good (Binder 1955, p. 229). Accordingly, if the ruler is incapable of understanding the Shari‘a independently, as was the case for the Prophet and the early Caliphs, then the authority of the Caliphate requires, in addition to the military power of the sultans, the intellectual authority of the ‘Ulamā’. On this Binder highlights the following:

The term Caliphate stands for the whole of Islamic government. Although al-Ghazālī seems to follow the traditional prejudice in favor of autocracy, it is obvious that his is a multilateral conception of the Caliphate. In it there are three main elements: the Caliph, the Sultan, and the ‘Ulamā’; each corresponding to some aspect of the authority behind Islamic government, and each performing a function required by that authority. The greatest virtue of al-Ghazālī’s theory is in its political realism; and yet he has maintained the essentials of the traditional theory. Each of the parts of the Caliphate represent not only an aspect of authority and a function of Islamic government, but also one of the major elements of political power in the Sunnī community.

(Binder 1955, p. 240)

For Binder this perception of the Caliphate represents a Hellenistic influence on al-Ghazālī. He recalls that Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūṣī, in the Virtuous City, said that in cases where not all the qualities of the philosopher-king are present in one man, then the second possible variation of government would be the one of several men in whom the required qualities are present in their collectivity (Binder 1955, p. 241). Consequently, since al-Ghazālī could not conceive an Islamic government unless it was based on the Shari‘a, he, accordingly, could not imagine an Islamic government without a Caliph, even though the practical role of the Caliph in his time was diminishing (Hillenbrand 1988, p. 92). The Caliph was indispensable for Abū Ḥāmid because he is entrusted with the exterior and interior lives of the people. He is the one entrusted to make sure that the people in the “estate” are conscious (fī yaqīn) of the Afterlife. In the absence of a leader that ensures public knowledge of the Law and enables the people to live according to it, there would be no purpose of an Islamic political body.

On the other hand, concerning the legitimacy and utility of contesting the government of a usurper, he warned about the problems that might occur from such rebellious acts in both al-Iqtiṣād (al-Ghazālī 2012, p. 295 and following) and the Iḥyā’ (al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 591–2). In the latter he says the following:

In short, we consider attributes and conditions in sultans with a view to (deriving) the optimum advantages. If we decreed that public functions (wilāyāt) are now invalid, the interests (of the common weal) would also be invalid. Why lose one’s capital by seeking (to gain) interest? No, indeed, sovereignty nowadays is possible only through force (shawka). The caliph is the person to whom the possessor of force (ṣāḥib al-shawka) pays allegiance. Anyone who seizes power by force (shawka) and is obedient to the caliph in respect to the khuṭba and the sikka [coinage] is a sultan wielding valid jurisdiction (ḥukm) and judgement (qaḍā’) in the (different) regions of the earth by virtue of a valid grant of jurisdiction (wilāya) whose decisions (aḥkām) are legally valid (nāfidha).

(Hillenbrand 1988, p. 90)

Al-Ghazālī’s aim in these texts was not to defend the weakness of the Caliphs or the despotic authority of the sultans, but to give his opinion as a jurist about what wisdom required in the political situation that prevailed at his time. Accordingly, his discussion of the Imamate in al-Iqtiṣād or in any other text should be considered one of jurisprudence rather than dogma (Hillenbrand 1988, p. 89).4 He explicitly says as much in his introduction to his discussion of the Imamate in al-Iqtiṣād: “Know that the doctrine of the Imamate is not part of fundamental religious doctrine, nor is it a matter of rational truth; rather, it is a matter of jurisprudence […]” (al-Ghazālī 2012, p. 290).

2.4. The Caliphate: Different Roles and Obligations, One Organism

Al-Ghazālī was convinced that the Caliphate cannot fulfill its vocation if not with the collaboration of each competent (mukallaf) Muslim of the community. Abū Ḥāmid thought that in the profane world (dunyā), each person, in his own vocation, contributes to the flourishing of the political body in accordance with his own skills. In the Iḥyā’, he talks about the roles of doctors, farmers, weavers, and many other professions and crafts that are indispensable for the good order of the profane world (intiẓām amr al-dunyā) (al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 20–21). Effectively, the view of political authority in al-Ghazālī, and in Islamic thought in general, would be incomplete if we did not include the active role of ordinary Muslims. Abū Ḥāmid allows ordinary members of the community, provided they have the requisite qualifications, to discharge the obligation of ḥisba, to command the good and forbid the wrong, al-amr bi-al-ma‘rūf wa-al-nahī ‘an al-munkar.

It is significant in this context that any person who is legally competent (mukallaf) and has the capacity to engage in practical judgment can discharge the duty of ḥisba. This distinguishes it from professional jurisprudence (ijtihād), which requires formal training. Even though ḥisba is not about consensus (ijmā), it does entail imposing what is ma‘rūf, which has the same root as ‘urf (custom), i.e., what is publicly known to be good and not a mere private habit (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 802 and following).

In fact, the Muslim body politic had previously suffered from what came to be called the miḥna (between the years 833 and 848), during which the Mu‘tazila Caliphs persecuted, punished, and killed many religious scholars for not conforming to the doctrine of the createdness of the Qurʾān. This traumatic event in Islamic history forced Muslims to confront the diversity of schools of thought and jurisprudence within the Muslim community. In general, even today, Islamic scholars and Islamic institutions find it extremely difficult to reckon as infidels other Muslims for having their own school of thought.5 Al-Ghazālī, effectively, suspended ḥisba in circumstances where it could lead to civil war. Rather than using ḥisba to enforce doctrinal conformity, for al-Ghazālī it should be pursued only for the sake of the common good. Just as the ruler must discipline himself in order to establish his authority and to restrain himself from giving free reign to his private interests, the mukallaf in the ḥisba is equally expected to discipline his soul and to learn to act for the common good and not according to private interests.

In this system, the Muslim community acts as one organism, and each member of that community should, in the first instance, discharge his social role and only then think about his own interests or the interests of his family. Al-Ghazālī calls on his fellows, for instance, to stand with the poor (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 666) and not restrict one’s commitment to members of their family but to the whole community of brothers in Islam, which is none other than a fraternity in God that is not to be considered as less than the fraternity of birth (li’anna al-ukhuwwa idhā iktusibat fī Allāh lam takun dūn ukhuwwat al-wilāda) (al-Ghazālī 2005, pp. 613, 652 and following). Within this society, members owe one another eight duties: material assistance, personal aid, holding one’s tongue, speaking out, forgiveness, praying for one’s brother, loyalty, and an easy-going sociability (al-takhfīf wa tark al-takalluf wa al-taklīf) (al-Ghazālī 2005, p. 628 and following). Individual Muslims, on al-Ghazālī’s account, play a crucial role in fulfilling the duty to preserve the Caliphate, to ensure its survival, its prosperity, its piety, its ethics, and knowledge.

It is worth noting that, since the Abbasid Caliph in the time of al-Ghazālī had very restricted actual power in the empire that was mostly ruled by princes and ministers, the call for ḥisba and brotherhood in the community of Muslims could also be, in one way or another, restituting the missing role of the Caliph in spreading religiosity in the day-to-day life of the community.

3. Conclusions

For al-Ghazālī, the aim of politics is to produce a body politic in which citizens cooperate in order to live virtuous lives in accordance with the Shari‘a. The Caliph and the scholars have the knowledge and duty to make sure that the governance and social practice constitute an estate that prepares the citizens for the Afterlife. The kings and sultans have the knowledge and power to protect this estate, to ensure the continuity of Islamic rule, and ensure its prosperity in order to allow the citizens/Muslims to free themselves from such preoccupations. Authority is not restricted to these two major authoritative positions, although governance emanates from them. Each citizen in the city/Caliphate has a role to play and a responsibility towards preserving the Law and ensuring the prosperity of the Caliphate and its citizens according to the knowledge and expertise of each citizen (doctors, farmers, knitters, etc.). From this perspective, political authority for Abū Ḥāmid is “participatory,” insofar as it requires all citizens of the Caliphate, each according to his knowledge, to discharge the duty that society has entrusted him with. The Law in the Caliphate, i.e., the Sharī‘a, is derived in the first instance from the plain sense of revelation; enhanced spiritual experiences deepen both the understandings of the Sharī‘a and the ability to live faithfully in accordance with its teachings.

If we follow the reasoning of al-Ghazālī, we can say that the citizen in whom God has cast light into his heart will abide by the Sharī‘a spontaneously. Because the nature of the knowledge he has received from God is transformative, his personal convictions and ethics conform to God’s will, and he fulfills the Sharī‘a’s requirements easily. In addition, the more authority figures in the city structure their relationships with God through the sciences of unveiling (kashf), the more they will be knowledgeable in the Law of God. This will make them wiser in applying the Law in particular cases where it is difficult to discern the right path without the Light of the Merciful (al-raḥīm).

In my understanding of al-Ghazālī, when rulers are not working towards the Afterlife, the role of the “knowers” would be to work in politics by remaining conscious (‘alā yaqīn) of the ḥaqq and spreading it pedagogically in society. In fact, I think this is how we should understand a nuanced soul like al-Ghazālī, who preached about the intrinsic role of politics in the path towards the Afterlife and at the same time renounced political positions after he was enlightened in his heart. He spent the rest of his life after his crisis in praying and teaching, not because he stopped believing in the role of politics in preparing for the Afterlife but because, as he preached in al-Iqtiṣād, Fadā’iḥ al-Bātiniyya, and other writings, when a Muslim cannot make an immediate change or impact on the political reality without causing greater harm, he should abstain from creating confusion. However, inspired by Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, I think what a believer can do today is to preserve the dynamism of the sciences that lead to the ḥaqq and work toward renewal through teaching in the profane world, which is our common “estate”. Then, when the momentum is built and the day comes where change is possible, the souls of the people of the “estate” would be ready and the righteous path would be clear for them to head through it.

Finally, it is important to note that the aim of this article is not to say that the Caliphate system of al-Ghazālī is valid to be applied today, but rather to say that the original aims of this Islamic system and its foundational spirituality could be inspiring for our societies if their interpretation takes into consideration today’s concerns and perception of law and justice. For instance, conditions in al-Ghazālī’s system, such as the Caliph having to be from Quraysh, does not resonate with today’s society. However, the spiritual ideas, such as the rulers having to mirror the justice and ethics that they would gain through their seeking of true knowledge, might be transformational for today’s societies in addition to being a valid common space where many religions and spiritualities would meet. In today’s society where “good” is not sought anymore but only “justice” (Rawls 1971), and where materialism is much diffused as Pope Francis has warned many times (Francis and al-Tayyeb 2019; Francis 2020), going back to the roots of political systems where the truth was cherished and sought might inspire us with some fundamentals that might add some “good” to our un“just” world.